Nathaniel pointed his rifle toward the sky. 'Tell me.'
Jean and Etienne exchanged glances, then the younger man nodded. Jean let his hand fall from his shoulder and hunched forward. 'It is like this. Two months ago a ship arrives in Kebeton from Tharyngia. A man, tall, a scarecrow, a Laureate, they say, he comes with troops and many boxes of equipment. Big boxes, small, and he has servants who help unload, but only at night. He offers good money, much money, for scouts, and for other things. I just found paths for him, yes? I knew of the other things he wanted but he was a Laureate. Like your prince, non? Who can know their minds?'
'What did he want?' Owen dropped to a knee. 'The other things?'
Jean stared into the fire. 'He wanted bodies. He wanted to know where the Shedashee, they bury their people. He came to some of the resting grounds, but the bodies, they did not suit him. So he asked for other bodies. I hear, you know, men bring him murder victims. There was one small town where we hear there is a frozen body. They keep it in the ice house and charge for to look. And he sends for that body.'
Nathaniel nodded. 'And that would be Pierre?'
Jean shook his head. 'I do not know.'
'My father, yes.' Etienne lifted his head, smearing dirt as he wiped away tears. 'I fetched the body. I thawed it out. I saw it was my father. And a week later, I saw my father alive again.'
Chapter Twenty-Seven
June 27, 1763
Pine Lake
Lindenvale, Mystria
O wen ran a hand over his unshaven jaw. 'No lie?'
'It was my father. The frostbite, it had nibbled, but no mistake.' The young man hung his head. 'And yet, you know, it was not my father.'
'Meaning?'
Etienne closed his eyes tight. 'His eyes. I saw some of him there, but very little. Hints of him. He was an echo, a faint echo, in his body. Physically able, yes, but mostly gone.'
Jean looked up, fear etching lines around his eyes. 'This is not possible, non? One cannot return from the grave.'
'I reckon the Good Lord did.'
'Yes, but if you believe such things, Nathaniel, he was the Son of God. No man can do this.'
Makepeace spat. 'That ain't exactly true. In the Good Book, Elisha done raised men from the dead, one man just on account of that man touched Elisha's bones. Saint Paul done raised a boy what fell out of a window and died. Saint Peter brought Saint Tabitha back.'
Etienne's eyes opened again. 'But the man from Tharyngia, he is no saint.'
'Du Malphias.'
Both the Ryngians looked up at Owen. Etienne shivered. Jean shook his head. 'He is the Devil himself.'
Nathaniel chuckled. 'Here I thought, Jean, you didn't believe.'
'He is enough to convert me. Gods, demons, evil thoughts in his head, I do not know, but I have seen what he has done.'
Owen held a hand up. 'What the boy said about echoes. I remember men who had head wounds. They didn't die, at least not immediately. They weren't in pain. They could remember some things. They were almost childlike.'
Etienne nodded. 'Yes, it was like that, a bit, but my father was not hurt in the head.'
Nathaniel stood. 'I'm a-wondering, Owen, why you's fighting what they're telling us. You said yourself this du Malphias robbed graves there on the Continent. Supposing he had found a way to raise the dead?'
He pointed at the Ryngians. 'How many like Pierre did you see?'
Jean shrugged. 'A dozen. Two.'
'They eat much?'
'I never saw them eat. But when they would be broken, the devil would fix them.' Jean glanced at Kamiskwa. 'The pasmortes, he would use them to frighten the Ungarakii.'
The Altashee nodded. ' Wendigo. Very bad.'
A chill puckered Owen's flesh. 'Where is he?'
Etienne's eyes grew wide. 'You are mad if you go there.'
'Where is he?'
Jean's expression sobered. 'You doom yourself. Nathaniel, Makepeace, you know Anvil Lake. The Green River flows from there to Lac Verleau-on the northern heights, he is building a fortress. He has cannon and soldiers. It cannot be taken.'
Owen frowned. 'Anvil Lake? How far?'
'Due west a week.' Nathaniel scratched his jaw. 'Anvil drains out the Roaring River south and into the Misaawa River south of Long Lake. It also drains east into the headwaters of the Tillie.'
'He cuts us off from the interior and threatens Lindenvale.' Owen lowered his musket. 'How far built is his fortress?'
Etienne threw his arms wide. 'It is huge. His workers are tireless. They shift stone, they chop wood.'
'Can you draw me a picture of it?'
Jean shook his head. 'It would do no good. He builds in pieces, tearing things down, putting things up. And he builds down, my friend. Deep. Into the depths are where these pasmortes go. From the bowels of the earth Pierre emerged.'
Owen chewed his lower lip. 'How reliable are these two?'
'Reliable? Not much.'
'Can they be trusted to carry a message?'
Jean laughed. 'If carrying it will get me far away from du Malphias, you shall have no better courier, my friend.'
'There's a pound in it for you, a gold pound, if you get it to Temperance.'
Jean nodded avidly, his partner dully.
Makepeace growled from behind them. 'And a lead pound if you don't.'
'Calm yourself, my friend Makepeace. I will be your most obedient servant.' Jean smiled easily. 'I live to serve, and if I serve you, I shall continue to live.'
Owen wrote up two messages, coding the one to the Prince and another covering letter to Doctor Frost. He sealed the first, then sealed it inside the second. The four of them then split the night into watches and kept the Ryngians under guard. Finally, when morning arrived, they helped the Ryngians load their canoes and sent them on their way.
With the canoes a dozen yards offshore, Etienne turned back with a dripping paddle across his knees. 'Monsieur Woods, have you seen my father?'
'Yup. Shot him dead. Burned his head. Ain't no more need for no nightmares.'
'Yes, I see. Merci.' He turned and drew deep water with the paddle.
Makepeace spat in the direction of the departing canoe. 'By the Grace of God I hope that boy done learned a lesson.'
'Wurms sooner to grow wings, I'm reckon.' Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. 'We're a week to Anvil. Another week to paddle our way across, give or take. Couple islands we could lay up on, ain't there?'
Makepeace squatted and drew a rough map in the dirt. The outline resembled an anvil with the top running north to south, and the beak pointing north. The lake narrowed toward the east, then broadened out again into the anvil's base. The Green River came in at the southwest quarter, and the Roaring River went out very close to it. The Tillie outflow split the eastern shore in half.
'Couple small islands near that fort. Jumbles of rocks mainly. Two big ones, one to the north, one straight east of that fort. North we won't see nothing. East we would have a good view, but your man would be an idiot iffen he
